Dark Times
by Desidera
Summary: In dark times there's a dark story about a dark love...


**Author's Notes**:

This is very dark, very sad. Deaths, cursing, sex, drug abuse. Mandragora can be used as a mind-altering herbal drug, I did research. I don't know if Dementors can devour one's soul after he's been killed with "Avada Kedavra". But I thought it a fitting image, like throwing the bones to the dogs. Ignore any mistakes.

Edited: Thanks for your suggestion, Swiftrunner!

**Disclaimer: **

Not mine, J.K.Rowling's.

**Dark Times**

These are dark times, dark days, when this story happens. Times, where Diagon Alley is deserted. Where Hogsmeade is a place of terror. Where the Death Eaters' headquarters are set in the castle of Hogwarts.   
In dark times there is a dark inn, near the old Leaky Cauldron. Last Resort it is called, and few know how true the name is. Muggles can't see it, Death Eaters don't mind it. After all there are only cranky old wizards in there, and even if they dared to mutter against the Dark Lord, none of them would ever find the strength again to do anything more than that. Old men are weary anyway and long battle makes them even more tired.

They sit together in groups, mumbling quietly, now and then glancing warily at the other tables, before leaning in, taking their mandragora-spiked cigarettes out of their mouths, talking sluggishly about nothing and everything. They're allowed to talk, unlike the rest of the wizarding world, because half of their talk makes no sense anyway. And the rest isn't exactly intellectual either, mandragora thoughts and visions clouding the brain, shielding it from the cruel truth.

Today there's a stranger in the corner. They eye him openly, knowing he is no spy. A spy would never separate himself so obviously from the crowd. He's got no cigarettes, just a pint of butterbeer, nothing too strong. Butterbeer's of no use if you want to forget. Means he isn't a normal citizen either. Citizens always want to forget about their misery.

A fighter? But what would he do here, when they are pulling all the fighters together for the last strike outside there?

No one knows when it will happen, but everyone knows it will. The Death Eaters know, the Dark Lord knows. The last remnants of the Order, the Resistance...they want revenge. They wanted it for so long. Revenge for killing the old headmaster of Hogwarts, whose name isn't spoken anymore. Some call him the Phoenix, though even that name could get you killed if any Death Eater's ears were long enough to hear it. In school students learned the phoenix was a sign of hope, was a healer doing miracles, protecting the heroes. With the Phoenix the hope died, and all was laid in ruin. Childern don't learn about phoenixes anymore, they don't learn anything except protection charms and running, or torture and murder, depending on whose side they are.

So many are killed, so many.

Looking at the Stranger it's obvious he's lost everything. Everything but his life. Which isn't really a consolation either, in these dark times.

In fact, life makes you insane.

As it did to the Boy Hero. The one sparkling and shining with hope. After the death of the Phoenix, he lost it. Lost his hope and, somewhere along losing his best friends he also lost his sanity. No wonder.

Some say it's an act. An act to get revenge more easily. But few believe it. There's no point in revenge, because there is no plan. No plan to overthrow the Dark Lord. Even thinking about it is a crime.

The Boy Hero doesn't think about it anymore. He's vanished, to live in the woods, probably, together with his werewolves and black dogs and giants and centaurs and house elves and dragons and all those creatures that aided him once. They're gone now too, what a pity for the Boy Hero. He's crazy, crazy as a loon, and nobody cares anymore.

The Stranger wears a hooded cloak. It's nothing special, almost everyone wears hoods. Trying to hide from the Death Eaters, wizards and witches equally mirror their looks. How could you tell them from the real ones? Aren't we all little Death Eaters, good little Death Eaters, obeying our Dark Lord?

The Stranger isn't really obeying the Dark Lord, though, because he's young. Despite the hood it's obvious. He's very young.   
And all the young ones are at war. If they aren't killed anyway. The Dark Lord needs fighters... to fight against whom? Who knows. He gathers them for the last strike of the Resistance. Who knows when that will be.

The door is pushed open. Angry gusts of wind blow instantly into the comfortable warmth of the room, making everyone look up. The Intruder doesn't care. He closes the door quickly, and though under his hood nothing is to be seen, it's clear he's scanning the room for a place to sit. There are groups of wizards everywhere, and he doesn't seem to belong to any of them. So it's either the bar, where he is in full view of everyone or the table in the corner, where the Stranger sits.   
He chooses the table, almost falling down onto the wooden chair.

The Stranger ignores him, but out of the corner of his eye he's watching him, no doubt. And the Newcomer, though exhausted, clearly senses it, not giving a sign but watching just the same. He's young too, maybe even a bit younger than the other. Certainly smaller. And he's tired, slumped in his chair, his breath coming in quick gasps.

For a while they only sit. Then the Newcomer speaks.

"What are you watching me for?"

"Nothing"

"I'm no spy. Obviously."

"I noticed. Obviously"

"Can't blame you for watching, can I? I would. Everyone would"

"Quite so. Times are rough"

The Exhausted gives a hollow laugh, but continues, deadly serious.

"Only the quiet watchers survive"

"As if I didn't know"

"Don't bother watching, though. Everything's over"

The First contemplates the statement before answering.

"Whatever's over, it doesn't end anything. Life's not over"

Again that hollow laugh.

"Too true. But my life will be over soon. I suggest you look for another table by then. They might not like your looks"

And again he laughs, humorlessly, before going on.

"Well, your look's just the same as theirs, so they probably don't mind"

A pause.

"_They_...are coming for you?"

"Of course. After all I've done"

"What have you done?"

"Most likely you know best yourself."

"How should I?"

"Well, you're one of them, obviously"

"Till this moment you were reasonable, but right now I can't follow your logic anymore"

"Don't bother. My ingenious logic will follow me to the grave"

Empty laughter, then again deadly serious.

"I doubt there'll be a grave for me. Anyway... Look, it's easy. I know your voice, and the one usually talking with it has gone to his certain death. Means you're a fake. Imitating. Acting. And now you'll kill me. Or wait for your dear friends to join you."

It's silent. Then the First speaks, perfectly composed it seems.

"If you were the one whose voice you're using you wouldn't even be here waiting for death, because it would already have found you. You wouldn't be trying to get me to pity you. To trust you. To make a mistake that will cost me my life."

Silence. Then the Hopeless again.

"Damn. If he was there he'd want me to give his ghost a chance. You talk just like he would, you know. Seems I have to test you"

"Just try..."

The Wary considers, then adds.

"...And I'll return the favour."

A quiet minute passes, hoods concealing a multitude of emotions. The Hopeless starts.

"Let's say you're his ghost. You might know he had a lover. You might know what he said to him. That night. The first night."

Now the Wary laughes. It sounds like he's trying to hold back tears, though.

"You want the dirty details, don't you? Pity he didn't say anything."

"........Nothing? Not one word?"

The voice of the Hopeless is strained too. But the Wary is suddenly quiet. When he speaks again his voice is strangely trembling.

"....He cursed."

The Hopeless lifts his hands from the table, speaking. And there is something in his voice, some emotion.

"...When they were in bed, and naked, and had fucked...and he thought his lover was sleeping....He whispered into his ear....."

" _Fucker _"

The hands grasp the edges of the hood. The voice of the Hopeless is suddenly thick with tears.

"That's what he said"

The hood is ripped off. The Wary's hands mirror the action.

Silver grey stares into emerald green. The air between them is burning.

"How the hell could you survive???"

Both shout, causing the old men to look up from their pints.

"I killed him"

Harry Potter says with cold confidence.

"I killed him using your information. The one you uncovered before they identified you as a spy."

Draco Malfoy smiles equally coldly.

"So it was of some use, trading my life."

"It was. I thought I was doing this as a last acknowledgement of your brave, selfless sacrifice."

"Fuck selflessness. I want to be selfish. I want to tell you I want you. Right now. I've been waiting for far too long"

"I want you too. But we can't. They are raiding every house. They are turning the whole wizarding world upsite down. They'll get us."

"Then they will. I'm sick of hiding."

"They won't invite us for tea, you know."

"The hell!!!! Then I want to die, knowing I fucked you one last time!!!"

"....Die together?...How romantic. Sounds good, doesn't it? You were my first, you'll be my last."

"Let me show you how romantic our last time will be"

In contrast to his harsh words his hands are gentle as he frames the other boy's face with them, leaning in for a kiss.

The drugged customers don't notice how the two strangers that aren't vanish into the side room. They hear neither the moans nor the declarations of love.

But they notice when the door is once again forcefully pushed open. Dark hooded creatures invade the room, at least a dozen, two of them identified immediately as Dementors.

Hiding under tables and in corners the customers watch them rush into the side room.

Even drugged minds recognize tortured screams.

Even drugged minds feel the dark shadow of "Avada Kedavra".

Even drugged minds know how Dementors devour dying souls. 

But none of them knows who really died in there. And ten years later, when happy little children listen to happy little fathers and mothers telling happy little stories how everything was rebuilt once the Dark Lord had mysteriously vanished, they don't remember the dark story of a dark love back in the dark times.


End file.
